Deadfall (8 page)

"Did you park near Buster's truck?" Joe asked.

"No. 1 saw it, though."

"And then what, Vance?" Callie prodded. "Did you see anyone else around there?"

Joe watched carefully as Galen backed away from them. "I might've seen something," he admitted. "But why should I tell you?"

"Because we're trying to find out who really blew up the sawmill and killed Buster!" Callie cried. Joe flinched. Callie had to cool it. "If you know something important, you should tell us or the sheriff," she added.

"Tell Ferris?'' Galen exploded. "He'd never believe me! He probably thinks / helped blow up the mill!"

"Has he questioned you?" Frank asked.

"Nope," Galen replied, "and he's not going to. I'm not giving him any excuse to lock me up."

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"What did you see near the sawmill?" Joe asked again. "A person? Somebody's car?"

Joe saw Galen jerk slightly at the word car. Frank saw it, too.

"Whose car was it, Vance? Who else are you afraid of?" Frank asked.

Galen sat down uneasily on the edge of a chair and faced the Hardys. He laid the rifle across his knees.

"All right," he said finally. "I thought I saw Rafe CoUins's Cadillac parked off the road. It's a red sixty-seven, a beat-up old wreck that Collins is real proud of. It's hard to miss. Buster's truck was parked right by it," he said finally.

"Collins? Bo Johnson's foreman? You actually saw him there?" Joe jumped in.

Galen shook his head. "I didn't see anybody. Just the truck and the car. Then, right afterward came the explosion. I was so close, I was stunned by it. I wandered away and eventually found my truck."

"What happened after that?" Frank asked.

"I went home. Ever since that day, I've been scared."

"Of Collins?" Callie asked him.

"Absolutely. Once, after I organized some roadblocks on Johnson Lumber's logging roads, he told me he'd shoot me if I ever set foot on Johnson property again. I believe he'd do it, too. Bo Johnson hired him straight out of prison on a work-release parole to keep the mill employees in line."

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*'What do you mean?" Frank asked.

'*You know," Galen said, 'if Johnson's employees get any notions about saving the local wildlife or joining a union, Collins leans on them."

Neither of the Hardys believed all of what Galen said, but their impression of Collins coincided pretty well with his description.

''Did you have any more plans for sabotaging the lumber companies?" Frank asked. "Anything that might involve dynamite, for example?"

Galen sat up straight, gripping his rifle more tightly. "Did you come in here earlier?"

"Relax, Vance," Joe said calmly. "We're just trying to help Stan—and you, if you'll let us."

Galen slowly relaxed his grip on the rifle. "All right," he said. "I did get a bunch of books on dynamite and some fuses and other stuff back when the state legislature decided to let the redwoods be cut. I was going to get some dynamite and blow up the access roads."

"But the legislature voted to save the trees," Callie pointed out.

"It's a good thing," Galen said quietly. "I don't know if I would have had the guts to blow anything up. Collins has me too scared to fight Johnson Lumber, and they're the worst mill in the state. So all I do is talk."

"As long as it's good talk, it's worthwhile," Frank suggested. "Will you tell Ferris about seeing CoUins's car when we're ready to bring our evidence to him?"

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Galen hesitated. The Hardys could see the inner battle he was fighting. After a short pause Galen's conscience apparently won out over his fear. ''Okay. I'll talk to Ferris."

"Great. Now, there's just one more thing we need from you, Vance," Joe said.

''What's that?" he asked wearily.

"A ride down the mountain."

It was late afternoon by the time the Hardys and Gallic reached the general store. Vance waved goodbye and said he was going to visit Stan. Joe spotted their jeep parked in front—a little beat up, but not too bad, considering. "I wonder if it works." He hurried over and checked. Sure enough, it started right up. A sign taped to the steering wheel read, "Ten bucks for towing off the mountain. Leave the money at the general store."

"Now that's the kind of small-town hospitality I like," Joe said. "Let's go inside and pay the guy. And after a quick bite, how about checking out the site of the explosion? There's probably no one around today, and something might turn up."

"Sounds good to me," Frank said, moving toward the general store.

"Wow. It looks so sad," Gallic said as they drove into the parking lot. Only two warehouses were untouched by the fire.

"Let's start near that big saw, the one the

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arson investigators were talking about," Frank said as they hopped out of the jeep. 'That is, if we can figure out where it was in this mess."

Silently they crossed the parking lot to the rubble that had been the main building. Joe instantly found what had to be the mill's largest saw. The jagged-toothed steel plate, at least ten feet in diameter, had been bent nearly in half.

''No fire would have done that," Frank said, resting a hand on the ruined saw. 'That would take a lot of explosives—probably dynamite."

"There are plenty of footprints here," Joe said, pointing to the ash-covered ground around the saw. "Fire fighters, paramedics, the arson investigators—too many to identify."

"I'm glad I wasn't inside fighting the fire," Callie commented as they poked around. "It must have been horribly hot. Hey," she added, squatting down to peer beneath the saw's cradle. "I think I found something."

Callie retrieved something from under the cradle and stood up. When she opened her hand there was a battered steel cigarette lighter.

"Hmm. Not very impressive," Callie said. "One of the mill workers must have dropped it."

Joe took the lighter and turned it over. A bit of brass was tacked to the other side. "Wings over a parachute. Isn't that some kind of military insignia?"

"Right, for the army paratroopers," said Frank. He took the lighter and scraped the ashes off the bottom. "Uh-huh," he added. "There's

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an inscription here. It says, 'Saigon, seventy-two.' Whoever dropped this is probably a Vietnam veteran. It shouldn't be too hard to find out if there are any ex-paratroopers who work at the mill. If the owner of the lighter can't explain how his lighter got here, we just might have our man."

"I don't know, Frank," Callie said with a frown. ''It's pretty flimsy."

"It's all we have to go on so far," said Frank, irritation creeping into his voice. "Let's look around and see if anything else turns up."

Joe turned back to sifting through the ashes until he heard Frank say, "Okay, I give up. If we haven't found anything by now, there's nothing else to find."

"Including Buster's keys," Joe pointed out.

"Right." Frank nodded. "Which means either the investigators found them—"

"Or the murderer took them," Joe finished grimly. "Which explains why Horizon's equipment keeps following us around."

"Let's go back to town. I could eat again," Callie suggested, dusting ash off her hands. "Maybe Peg Robbins at the general store can tell us who owns that lighter. She knows everyone in town, and Uncle Stan says she loves to gab."

By the time the Hardys and Callie returned to the general store, it was nearly dusk and the lunch counter was empty. Only breakfast and lunch were served. Portly Peg Robbins, whom they had watched serving the loggers the day

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before, stood behind the counter wiping down the coffee machine. Her husband sat in his usual spot behind the cash register, this time working a crossword puzzle. The teenagers headed straight for the single rest room in the back, taking turns cleaning up as best they could.

*'Hi, Peg," Callie said as they finally climbed onto the stools in front of the counter. ''Do you remember me? Callie Shaw, Stan's niece?"

''Of course 1 do!" the woman cried, turning around and giving Callie a big, motherly smile. "1 never forget a soul who passes through this old place." Her face turned somber as she stepped closer, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. "My dear, I'm so sorry about your poor uncle," she said gravely. "Can I get you anything—^we're officially closed but I make lots of exceptions."

Callie waited until Peg served them to strike up a conversation again. Finally, she held up the paratrooper lighter.

"We found this yesterday when we were hiking," CaUie said casually. "It looks like it might be important to someone, so we thought we'd bring it here to see if you might recognize it. We'd like to get it back to its owner if we can."

"Of course," she said. "Mike Stavisky's your man. He went to Vietnam with the paratroopers in—let's see—May of 1971. He was discharged in 1972. I remember his mother's excitement when he got off that bus like it was yesterday."

"Mike Stavisky?" Joe tried to hide his excitement. "Are you sure, ma'am?"

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"Of course I'm sure!" Peg Robbins drew herself up to her full height. "Michael's used that lighter at this counter a hundred times. It's a real keepsake, this is." She smiled at Callie. "He'll appreciate getting it back."

"Uh, do you know where we might find him?" Frank asked.

A wry smile appeared on Peg Robbins's lips. "I have a very good idea," she said smugly. "Though I'm not sure I should tell."

"Of course you should," Callie said, coaxing her.

Peg hesitated only one more second before she leaned her elbows on the counter and whispered to them. "Well, don't tell them I told you," she said. "But with poor Buster Owens out of the picture, I'd bet the store that Mike's over at Millie Owens's right now."

"Millie Owens?" Joe said, surprised.

Meg nodded importantly. "I happen to know that Mike's been smitten with that girl since high school. For years he's been after her to marry him. But her dad wouldn't hear of it, and he was Mike's boss. Now, though. Buster's no longer in the way."

Peg straightened up, smoothed her apron over her dress, and glanced guiltily toward her husband. "Now," she said in a much louder voice, "how about some of my famous blackberry pie?"

"Turn left here," Callie said from the passenger seat of the jeep as Joe steered down a dark

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mountain road. She held Frank's pocket penlight close to the paper on which she'd scrawled Peg Robbins's directions to Millie's house.

''Just a couple of miles more," she said. 'Then a right at the Owenses' mailbox, and Millie's house is about half a mile farther on."

"Boy, the Owenses really like their privacy," Frank remarked from the backseat as the jeep made its way through the deepening gloom. A few minutes later he added, "Look. I see lights through the trees."

"We're in luck," Callie observed. "Millie must be home."

The dirt road suddenly dipped as it went around a sharp comer, and Joe lost sight of the house. But as he drove out of the dip, he heard the sounds of angry shouting.

"Do you hear that?" he asked Callie. "It sounds like two people fighting."

Callie rolled down her window to hear better. The shouts came again. Then Joe heard a scream.

"Did you hear what 1 heard?" Joe asked Callie.

She was staring at the house, her eyes wide. "Step on it, Joe!" she yelled. "Millie's in trouble!"

Chapter

10

Instinctively Joe's foot slammed down on the accelerator. The jeep flew the final fifty yards to the Owenses' home. Frank caught a quick glimpse of thinning trees and a sprawling ranch house. Joe braked the jeep to a grinding halt beside a rusty pickup parked at the end of the drive.

Frank jumped out onto the lawn.

'*The scream came from the house," Callie said, running toward the house with Joe following. "See? The front door's open."

Light glowed through the curtains covering a picture window at the front of the house. Frank could see two figures silhouetted against the curtains. One was tall and clearly female; the other was somewhat shorter, stockier, and male.

"Stay away from me!" Frank heard a female

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voice cry as he raced to the front door. "I told you, Mike, it's over between us!''

''But, Millie, I did it for you!"

Frank recognized Mike Stavisky's voice. As he reached the door, he saw Mike's silhouette advance toward the woman's. She backed away and screamed again.

"All right, that's enough!" Frank shouted, bursting through the open doorway, Joe and Gallic right behind him.

Mike Stavisky stared at the teenagers in open-mouthed amazement. The tall, plain-faced woman who'd been arguing with him was speechless, too. Her resemblance to Buster Owens left no doubt that she was his daughter, Millie.

"Clear off!" Stavisky finally growled, his face above the beard and mustache a bright red. "This is none of your business!"

"We're making it our business, friend," Joe said, moving closer. "We could hear Ms. Owens scream all the way out in the driveway."

"I'm okay." Millie clutched a handkerchief as though she wanted to tear it to pieces. Frank noticed that the room in which they were standing was filled with expensive-looking antiques. A large fireplace was set into one wall, and the other walls were hung with paintings. Clearly, the mill had earned a big income for the Owens family.

"Mike and I were just having a—a difference of opinion. And Mike's leaving. Aren't you, Mike?"

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"No, I'm not leaving," Stavisky said, still red-faced. *'Why should I? Because a bunch of Stan Shaw's buddies try to throw me out? I have a right to stay here until we settle things, Millie, and you know it!"

''What's there to settle?" Millie said sharply, forgetting the others for a moment. "The mill is mine now. My father's estate will be settled in the next few months. And if you want to keep your job, Mike, you'd better start speaking to me with more respect."

Millie's words left Stavisky sputtering. Before Mike could recover, Joe patted his pockets ab-sentmindedly and said, "Hey, Mike, got a light?"